thoughts on food, culture, and community

Friday Photo: Roses & Work Clothes, Shippensburg

The basement of my parents’ house is an area that my mother does not allow guests to see. The walls are covered with crumbling horsehair plaster; the floor is cement; the lights are bare-bulb dim. Here, however, is where my father’s farm clothes hang beside a bouquet of dried roses like a symbol of my parents: worn and warm, smooth and safe, together.